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(Intro: ShoGun Assason (Killa Sin)) |
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Yo, uh-huh, Nah, nah, nah, you know how to feel the deal baby? |
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We gon' strike (Killarm' '9-9, 2000) |
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(Chorus: P.R. Terrorist (Killa Sin)) |
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There's gon be a monster when we give birth to this shit |
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(Killarm' never mind who sponsor this shit) |
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Grab ya fat Mac's, hoodies and clips, abord the shit |
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(If you're for the cause, niggas jump off!) |
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(P.R. Terrorist) |
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Yo, You hardly qualify, fuckin with I, Terrorist die |
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I'm never calm, niggas scheme on gold and plat' charms |
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with leathers and goose feathers on, and never felt the weather warm |
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It's hot like when the sweater's torn, from the letter, Desert Storm |
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My resume was never sorn, I'm sharper than a cactus thorn |
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My practice on the pace of juggler, his ass is gone |
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Backdraft's the norm', exposed to chemical bombs |
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Criminal's, cons, thug drug dealers they carry arms |
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in they crotches, with CREAM, bulgin out they sock-es |
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Obnoxious, keep lyrics sicker than purple blotches |
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on ya body, machine gambino like John Gotti |
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with a snotty nose, nobody blows'll leave ya body frozen stiff |
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Terrorist niggas shoot the gift |
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Don't rift, I spill it like a bottle of Cris' |
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(ShoGun Assason) |
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Continue my daily plans and strategies |
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to rid myself of the problems that bother me |
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It's hard to stay humble and act calmly |
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and walk the streets without a nine on me |
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when it feel like someone's plottin on me, like they got the drop on me |
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but I got somethin hot on me that'll fuck ya world up terribly |
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So FUCK with me, I'm gone off the PCP |
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Blair Witch brew, OE and Henny |
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Hoodie, mask and gloves to hide the identity |
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Stay alert, move on ya clones and act quickly |
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That's what he taught me, observed his words and took heed respectfully |
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That's why real niggas move silent and deadly |
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{*echoes*} |
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(Chorus) |
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(9th Prince) |
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Eh-yo, eh-yo, 9th Prince and Killa Bamz in the lobby |
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At 1077, Body Brighton |
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Dirty cops and grimy niggas is fightin, Shaolin vikings |
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We wild like Hitler, drunk on German Heinekens |
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Bullets blow through ya shit, General Wise let the macs spit again |
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Snake nigga did a whirlwind, shot him in the mouth, |
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Shell exit through his chin |
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Killa Sin had the tre-pound, I had the four-pound |
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Laid him down on the compound, no smiles, wise men speak without a sound |
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Six-four, two-hundred and five pounds |
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Killarm', murder with glocks that'll murder ya block |
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Murder the cops, murder stick-up kids who circle the rock |
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(Beretta 9) |
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Yo, submit to my kill, my niggas stand still |
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and always what will, be, all that I can be, don't see |
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not in your peripheral, that be the last hit you see |
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Me, Killarm', we still indispensible |
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Yield to the strong, weak niggas not permisable |
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You won't make it through this song, Beretta's not your typical |
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One shot reciprocal, bust mine one time so ya mind stay Digital |
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(Killa Sin) |
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Eh-yo, some say this nigga like hoo wop for you dillingers |
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Pop this cop killin in ya cylinder |
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Administer wisdom shots to finish ya |
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The sinister slay rhymes, flame nines, hundred bar hang time |
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Bang like freight trains on the same line |
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We spray blocks, state-of-the-art, top material |
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Paid to knock, these razor sharp generals play they part |
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Now the trademark, engraved in the hearts of true followers |
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Czar fellas model skateboard is cradle robbers |
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and politics of sons and daughters, so they acknowledge us |
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Black man intelligence, supreme mind dominant |
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Killarm' blew it on the map, remain permanent |
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Wu-Tang and Sunz stay controllin this circumference |
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(Chorus 2X) |